


Tell Me What Your Science Says

by Atqueinstupracaballum



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Wilson has a complicated relationship with touch, could be platonic or romantic, two homies stargazing, whatever floats your boat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:09:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atqueinstupracaballum/pseuds/Atqueinstupracaballum
Summary: Wilson's not having a good week and that just won't do under Woodie's watch.Or: Sometimes self-care is screaming about stars to your local Friendly Lumberjack
Relationships: Wilson/Woodie (Don't Starve)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Tell Me What Your Science Says

**Author's Note:**

> A quick drabble I did to warm up my writing brain...also I'm currently SOFT AF for these two and for Woodie in general. Bless that Beautiful Beaver Man.
> 
> (Also, Me writing something...pleasant? Me writing fluff? What the actual fuck?)

"So you...you act-actually want me to-to tell you about the stars?" Wilson was struggling with his stutter again, a testament to how bang up the creek he felt lately.

"That's what I broughtcha out here for buddy," confirmed Woodie, staring happily upwards at the dark, cloudless sky. His arm itched to loop around his partner's shoulders, his hand wished to clasp Wilson's large calloused ones, but he controlled himself. In times like these, it would only suffice to make Wilson less comfortable, as opposed to more, as Woodie had learned. 

"I th-thought this was some...some cheap ploy to g-get me to-to get me to relax."

It was. Though a ploy is only cheap when it doesn't work.

"That's a bonus, yea, but I do wantcha to tell me everything you know about all that stuff up there." As he spoke he swept his hand over the sky.

"I'm no expert..." Wilson said and Woodie turned his head to flash him a bright grin. "Well that's alright, neither am I," Woodie couldn't tell if it helped, but Wilson's lips did twitch if only a little.

"When I was about yay tall," Woodie continued, arbitrarily raising his hand to mark a short height, "I thought that the night sky was just a big ol hunk of black velvet and that God, or his wife, or one of the angels had woven little fancy jewels into it and stitched a moon to its bodice every night."

"That's absurd," cried Wilson, and it was the most emotion he had expressed in a week. "That- how did you even come up with that? It's-It's unfathomable- impossible- unscientific!"

"Hey now," laughed Woodie, "It's a pretty alright theory in my opinion, but go on, tell me what _your_ science says about the sky." Wilson received it as the challenge Woodie had posed it to be.

Like a typewriter manned by a monkey on amphetamines he was off. Every textbook he had read on the subject from pre-fetus stage up until now was recalled and recited. The more he talked the less halting and subdued he became, with time he lost himself to passion, ideas bubbling up out of him too fast for his brain to overthink anything. His stutter disappeared and reappeared, sometimes butchered sentences completely, but Wilson seemed oblivious to it now. Woodie certainly could not have cared less about the stutter, all that mattered was that Wilson was talking without reserve or frustration. 

He tried as best he could to keep up with Wilson as the man took liberties in pointing out certain planets and constellations, but there was only so much a rurally educated lumberjack could do. Often he found himself more captivated by Wilson, and snuck glances at him.

All week his face had been pale, sullen, his eyes downcast and his thin lips always turned downwards. In those cognac eyes there had been very little and the man himself had seemed swaddled in a quiet, distant melancholy, which Woodie could find no cure for. Usually, he would pull Wilson into the hugs they both valued (and needed) so much, but Wilson shrunk away from touch, even the small incidental ones as though it were a pinch. 

Now! Now his face was animated, dark eyes lit with passion, heavenly bodies reflected within them. He was not exactly smiling, but certainly not frowning. That melancholy had been cast off, at last, and Woodie wanted to embrace him even more.

Still, he wished not to ruin the moment, or push Wilson to far, or distract him from his speech. Thus, he kept to himself and was content with listening and looking.

"That's...that's all I know...really, nothing much...but no one knows many things about what is up there..." He sucked in a breath, the exertion of his speech caught up to him. 

"I don't know buddy, still just looks like velvet to me." Woodie had a smug, mischievous look on his face as he said it, knowing well the bear he was poking. 

"No!" cried Wilson, attempting to be indignant, to stand up for his offended Science, yet he was laughing to, and Woodie's heart warmed as the scientist smiled. It was a real smile, stretching his thin lips into a lopsided grin, baring his teeth as he laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're impossible."

"But I made you laugh didn't I?"

"You...yes you did..." there was a silent thank you nestled in those words which Woodie felt was unnecessary. There was a moment of silence, crickets, and the crackling of the fire behind them filling the gap. Quietly Wilson shifted closer to him, not enough to touch shoulders, but almost. Woodie felt something press gently to his fingers, a silent invitation. Gently, sure not to press to hard, or make Wilson regret giving him permission, he clasped Wilson's hand with his own.

Wilson's breath stifled audibly in his chest, yet he squeezed Woodie's hand.

The fire crackled on, the crickets chirped, and the two men said nothing, for nothing needed to be said. All the while their hands stayed clasped, warm and soothing to both the owners of the hands, refreshing the lonely aches and cricks in their hearts.

It had been a cheap trick, inviting Wilson to stargaze with him, but Woodie would be damned if it hadn't worked.


End file.
